


Dolorem Ipsum

by apprenticeofcups



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Beating, Begging, Blood, Blood and Injury, Bondage, Bottom Julian Devorak, Caning, Canon Compliant, Consensual Kink, Crying, Dildos, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dominance, Dominant Asra (The Arcana), Hard Limits, Impact Play, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Bondage, M/M, Masochism, Men Crying, No Lube, Oral Sex, Pegging, Pre-Canon, Red Plague (The Arcana), Sadism, Safeword Use, Safewords, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strap-Ons, Sub Julian Devorak, Submission, abrasion play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 03:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20500289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apprenticeofcups/pseuds/apprenticeofcups
Summary: My milestone fic to celebrate 1K followers on tumblr! Asra and Julian collected the most votes in the poll; over half of you said there was no need to make it a threesome, and a surprising number requested angst, instead of fluff, which is just fine with me. I will be integrating the winning kinks as much as I can, so keep your eyes peeled! (And while the winning location was the Masquerade, that’ll be fudged just a little."Neque porro quisquam est qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit…"/“There is no one who loves pain itself, who seeks after it and wants to have it, simply because it is pain…”





	Dolorem Ipsum

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: Both parties have a preexisting relationship with a level of pre-negotiation, but the dynamic portrayed in the following work is not wholly consistent with healthy BDSM. The actions portrayed are dangerous and should not be attempted without experience, communication, and affirmative consent. Though it doesn’t appear “on-screen”, both parties have negotiated ahead of time, and have a safe-word in place to revoke consent at any time.

“Hurry—”

“Shh!”

“_Please_—"

“Ilya!” Tracing a circle of white light around the spare room’s keyhole, Asra glanced back over his shoulder. “Are you supposed to be up here, right now?”

“I—” Pacing in front of the wide second-floor windows, Julian flinched. “N-no, I’m not.”

“Then be _quiet_. The Quaestor hears like a bat.” Letting his magic seep into the elegantly-carved door, Asra felt the tumblers in the lock click, the expensive hardwood thrum and turn dense. His magic bled into the walls, slowly muffling the sounds from the Palace beyond. “…That should do it.”

Julian’s jacket, bundled with his gloves, flew off so fast, they knocked the lamp off the bedside table. He threw his arms around Asra’s waist, sweeping him off his feet and falling backward onto the bed without so much as moving back the canopy, pulling him over and over into crushing, desperate issues while the delicate tulle strained and crumpled under their combined weight. Scrabbling back and forth between Asra’s clothes and his own, he tried to undress, strip Asra, and pull ever closer together all at once.

Trying to wriggle out of his shirt and scarves despite Julian’s erratic hands, Asra managed to pull away just long enough to gasp a breath. “Stop—”

Julian froze, panting, flushed pink already down to his chest.

“See, _this_ is why I don’t let you touch,” Asra teased, slipping off his shirt and undoing the knot of Julian’s belt with one smooth pull. “We’d never get anything done.”

“Sorry—” Swallowing, Julian lay back on the bedspread. “I’m sorry.”

“If you want me to know how badly you want it, you know what to do.” Asra slid off the bed, undressing slowly in the half-light, while the bed’s canopy glowed faintly and tucked itself away. “Don’t stutter.”

“I—I—” Wincing, Julian moved to lie back on the pillows. “Please, I n-need—” Closing his eyes, he took a deep, slow breath. “Please…punish…me, I n-need—I w—I, ah, I nn—hah—” Letting out a frustrated noise, he buried his face in his hands.

“Oh, Ilya, that was pathetic.” Kneeling down to dig in the nightstand, Asra lifted the false bottom of the drawer, taking out toys one by one and laying them on the edge of the bed. “Take off your clothes.”

Julian flinched, slipping his shirt over his head and sitting up to get at his boots. “I’m s—I’m sah—I’m—I’m sorry—”

“Pick a toy. Tell me how you want it used.” Taking his clothes as he shed them, Asra folded each piece neatly by the nightstand, sitting the boots upright against the wall. “Don’t stutter.”

With a shiver, curling in on himself self-consciously on the bed, Julian felt over the lineup of plugs, thudders, stingers, and more, biting his lip. He settled on a cane, long, matte-polished purpleheart with a leather-wrapped handle, feeling along the length of it before he offered it up with a dry swallow.

Asra waited, not reaching for it. “Ilya…”

“Oh—” Running a hand over his face, Julian took another deep breath, every word careful and measured. “Hit me. Cane me. P—p—p—mm—” He made a face, digging nails into his bare thigh. “Punish—me—please. I d—d—” Dropping the cane in frustration, he hid his face in his hands again and groaned. “I nn—hn—”

Asra picked up the cane. “Spit it out.”

Abruptly, Julian smacked himself on the leg, a hard slap to the crescent-moon divots he’d dug into the pale skin. Like the flip of a switch, he burst out, “I don’t care if you draw blood!” Gripping a handful of his own hair, he panted, “I—I _want_ you to, I n-need—I need it, I need you, Asra, please—”

“That’s enough.” Sweeping his hair back from his eyes with one hand, Asra felt the weight of the cane. “Lie back.”

“N-no!” Curling into a ball, Julian shook his head. “I—want it on m-my back—my legs—I w-want to feel it when I sit—I-I sit _all day_—I-I want to think of you—all the time—”

“Fine.” Rolling his eyes, Asra tossed the cane aside. “But you have to earn it.”

“Yes—yes—I will—” Rolling over to crawl on his knees, Julian reached for him. “I’ll do it—anything you want.”

“Lie _down_. And don’t move.”

He did, for the most part, lying back on the rich violet bedspread, limp and compliant but trembling like a leaf in the wind. He watched with fuzzy, hooded eyes while Asra bound his wrists to the headboard, clean cotton rope in hasty single-column ties, looped through the carved-mahogany posts; while he took a dildo from the queue of toys, ribbed glass the same creamy blue as a cloudless summer sky. Eyes glued to it, Julian chewed on his lip and squirmed while Asra fixed it into a harness, cock already wet and stiffening between his legs. He let out a moan when Asra straddled his shoulders, sitting back on his heels and letting the glass tip just tap at Julian’s lip. Without any urging, Julian took the false cock into his mouth, bobbing his head so it knocked against the back of his throat.

“Suck on it.” One hand tangled in Julian’s thick red curls, Asra watched him coolly. “Love it. Choke on it. Even though it’s not real.” A thin stream of saliva ran down Julian’s chin, his mouth already beginning to overflow, and Asra wiped it away with his thumb, smearing it over a pallid, sunken cheek. “You don’t deserve the real thing, Ilya. You don’t deserve the warmth, the taste. You should be happy you get this much.”

Julian whimpered around the hard glass, squeezing his eyes shut. Asra rolled his hips forward, and his shoulders flexed in a gag. His hands, pinned over his head, opened and closed uselessly, and his hips shuddered. When Asra pulled away, sliding the dildo out of his mouth and leaving a trail of saliva all down his chest, he whined, grabbing with his trapped fingers.

Asra scoffed, sitting to the side, one hand ghosting through the dusting of coppery red hair on Julian’s stomach. The ropes binding his wrists unlaced themselves in a puff of lilac mist and fell loose, but Julian didn’t move, holding his wrists together and pressing them obediently into the headboard, his mouth slack.

One hand on the dildo, wet and warmed from the inside of Julian’s mouth, Asra looked him up and down. “Turn over. Get your knees under you. Now.”

He did it with practiced precision, rolling onto his hands and knees, folding his arms and resting his head on them. Kneeling between his legs, Asra spread them wider, pulling his hips lower and pressing the glass tip to his hole. Julian’s spine arched in anticipation, breathing shakily against his arms.

“I should leave you, just like this.” Dragging two fingers up the length of his cock, Asra scoffed. “I should leave you, just like this. I should make you wait—let you languish, not let you cum.”

“You should—you should—” His legs trembled from their awkward half-bentness. “I don’t—deserve this—don’t—hah—deserve you—”

“You’re pathetic.” Digging his nails into Julian’s hips, Asra swallowed. “You’d wait. As long as I left you, you’d wait. You’d beg.”

“Until I went hoarse.” Rocking back to try and force Asra inside, Julian muffled a groan in the bedspread. “I c-can’t help it, I’m—weak—I’m s-spineless—”

Closing his eyes, Asra pushed the whole length of it into him, wincing at the sharp cry it tore out of him. The drag and pinch of glass on every thrust was rough, only the thinnest coating of drool to help the false cock move inside him. Julian squirmed and howled under him, so that he had to hang on for dear life, one hand braced on Julian’s hips, the other on his bicep, thick and taut and shuddering along with the rest of him. Asra kept his eyes shut as he drove faster, tilting his hips so beveled glass slammed into Julian’s spot.

“W-wait—” Head jolting up from the covers, eyes flashing worriedly, Julian stammered, “N-no—please—I’ll—I-I don’t want—”

“So don’t,” Asra retorted, nails digging into his arm.

“I c—ahh—I can’t—” Breathlessly, Julian grabbed a handful of the covers. “I don’t—want to—”

“I don’t—care—” Thrusting into him harder, Asra panted. Before long, Julian cried out into his folded arms, spine bucking as his cock twitched and pulsed, spilling untouched onto the rich fabric below. Asra pulled out of him unceremoniously, tossing the cock and harness away as quickly as he could get out of them. Julian collapsed, flat on his stomach, muffling hard, noisy breaths in his arms.

Finding the cane again—half the toys had been bounced clear off the bed—Asra gave it an experimental swipe through the air. “Don’t move. Lie there, in your own cum, and think about why you want this. Why you beg me to hurt you, a trembling, drooling, stuttering mess.”

Julian mumbled incoherently, covering his head with his arms. Asra took a deep breath, tracing the purplish wood of the cane over the backs of his legs, his ass, the breadth of his shoulders. Once he’d outlined them all, he started to hit.

He didn’t work up to it. Three good strikes were enough to draw blood, splitting the skin in angry red lines. Julian moved every time the cane cracked against his flesh, writhing and reeling and crying out into the bedspread. Some were long, loud, high enough to fracture his voice; some were low, keening, and increasingly gravelly with strain. Asra looked only at the spots he’d promised to hit, shutting out everything but hot, crisscrossing welts beaded with blood, while his ears rang and the air started to take on the smell of salt and iron.

Somewhere after the thirtieth strike to his shoulder blades—who knew how many overall—the cries stopped, and Julian took a shuddery breath, his shoulders hunching. Asra paused, holding his breath. A single drop of blood ran down the cane to his hand—and he heard a sob.

He let his breath out in a rush, summoning a wisp of pale violet magic to clean the blood from the cane before letting it fall to the floor. It clattered against the other toys, and Julian jerked up from the covers, arms flimsy when he tried to hold himself up. “N-no—please—don’t stop—” His voice was thick, tears shining on his cheeks in the dim light. “P-please—”

“No, that’s it.” Asra couldn’t look at him, cleaning up the toys and returning them to the drawer. “We’re done.”

“No! No, please—wait—” Sniffling and scrambling to the edge of the bed, Julian tried to grab the cane. “I need more—I need—”

“No, Ilya!” Yanking it out of his reach, Asra flinched away. “I’m done! Red! That’s all!” Catching himself, he took a breath. “I’ve told you, I don’t like it when you cry.”

“It’s not like that,” Julian pleaded, hastily wiping his eyes. “It’s—it’s just a wall, with me—I-I swear, it’s not too much—”

“It is for me.” Replacing the false bottom in the drawer, Asra closed it with a snap. “You’ve been gone long enough already.”

“I don’t care.” He hadn’t been crying long enough for them to be red and puffy, but Julian’s eyes were still glazed and dreamy. “I can take it—I’ll be good—”

Asra sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hands glowed lilac while he took stock of the long, hard strikes decorating Julian’s back and legs. “You did. You were good. Now, hold still so I can heal you—”

“No!” Lurching away from him, Julian threw a hand back to protect the welts, smearing dark blood over the back of his thigh. “I want them.”

“Ilya—Ilya!” Asra tried twice to reach around him, and twice Julian scooted away, whimpering. Catching his face, Asra cupped his cheek gently but firmly, searching his eyes. “You have patients. You’re surrounded by Plague. You _cannot_ walk around with open wounds. It’s insane.”

For a moment, Julian only stared at him, every muscle wound tight as a spring. Then, he relaxed, shaking himself and lying back down. “There are more…charming ways to commit suicide, I suppose.”

Shaking his head, Asra ran his hands slowly over Julian’s back, letting his magic seep into the wounds, sealing up the broken skin, but leaving the bloodless welts as hot, angry, and raised as ever. “You’re supposed to stop me before you start crying. That’s what we agreed on.”

“I, uh, I didn’t know it was going to happen,” Julian admitted, peeking at him over one shoulder. “I was…I…needed more. I still do,” he added ruefully, laying his head down. “I need…I don’t know what I need, but it’s not enough, Asra. Not yet.”

“Then go looking for it somewhere else.” The last glimmers of magic dying away, Asra slid off the bed, tossing Julian’s clothes onto his empty place. “You need a real sadist. Go find one.”

Julian hesitated, setting up and taking his clothes into his lap. Watching Asra dress in the half-light, his face fell. “…I can’t.” He wilted, feeling over one shoulder, as if trying to hold onto the gentle touch of Asra’s magic. “It’s you,” he said softly, eyes clouded. “It has to be you. There’s only you.”

Asra sat next to him, gently unfolding the loose white shirt from his lap and helping him into it. Trying and failing to catch Julian’s eye, he winced. “Clearly, I’m not enough.”

“That’s not it.” Abruptly, Julian looked at him, straightening up from a hunched-over husk to a head above him in an instant. “That’s—no, it—it can’t be, it’s—” His chest tightened, as though his heart were caving in, and he swallowed. “It’s me, I’m—I’m too much, I—”

“_You_,” Asra cut in, pointedly, “need to get back to work.”

“I…I asked you to go over a limit…” Covering his mouth, Julian looked down at himself in horror. “I—I knew, and I d—I did it anyway, I—” He found a handful of his own hair, wrenching it. “Asra, I’m so sorry, I—”

“You go somewhere…far away, when you’re like that. You’re not rational.” Rolling his eyes, Asra went to the door, placing a hand on the wood and drawing his magic out of the walls. Little by little, the Palace noises crept back in: rolling carts, servants chatting, heels on marble floors. “Don’t let yourself dwell on it.”

“I didn’t even think about it,” Julian muttered, fumbling back into his clothes. “I was so short-sighted, and manic, and—and _selfish_, I—” His voice broke. He touched his eyes, and cursed in a language Asra didn’t recognize, flinging his dark leather gloves across the room. “—And now I’m doing it again. Fuck me. Fuck—”

“Stop!” It came out harsher than he thought it would, but there was no point in taking it back. Retrieving the gloves and shoving them into his hands, Asra frowned. “I can’t listen to you spiral again. You crossed a line. It happens. You’ve done plenty of damage before by being oblivious.” Julian flinched, and his eyes started to cloud again, the shadows under his cheekbones and eyes stark black in the dimness. Asra didn’t give him a chance to speak on it, in hopes he’d be spared another soliloquy. “Go back to work.” The lamp righted itself a nightstand when he found Julian’s jacket, holding it out expectantly. “We’ll try again later.”

It didn’t work. “I’m so sorry, my dear.” Julian’s palm was light on his cheek, the familiar smell of warm leather something other than comforting. “I swear, this will all be worth it. I don’t know what I’d be without you to keep me sane.” His eyes, somber, muddy grey with a sad sparkle, searched Asra’s face. He couldn’t tell if they were mapping his features, or laying another set over them. “I know, I—I don’t deserve this, but—”

Julian kissed him, slow, and deep, one arm strong around his waist, one hand brushing the hair back delicately from his cheek. It was the kind of kiss, the kind of hold that was all-encompassing, safe and glowing with an inner warmth, and Asra couldn’t wait for it to be over.

“I promise,” Julian murmured, holding him close and kissing the side of his head. “I’ll be better.” He drew in a breath that rhymed with a name they never spoke. “For you.”

Listening to the flutter of his heart, Asra gave up resisting, closed his eyes, and said nothing.


End file.
